by Anne Jolin
After breaking apart, I rest my forehead on hers, running my thumb across her bottom lip. Then I sing the very last line, holding her close.
I kissed the prettiest girl I’ve every laid eyes on while dancing on the tailgate of my truck in the middle of nowhere, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Guaranteed.
“DOES THIS LOOK OKAY?” I ask anxiously.
Flopping over onto her stomach, Aurora rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Yes. That one looks gorgeous. So did the other twelve outfits you put on in the last hour. This is like fashion torture. What gives?”
“I’m meeting his parents.” I scowl at my reflection, pulling at the fabric around my midsection in disgust. “I’m a whale in this.”
Chucking a pillow, which I’m sure was aimed for me but missed by a mile, my sister scoffs. “First off, it’s not even physically possible for you to look like a whale.” She smirks. “You don’t have a tail and you’re a terrible swimmer, so don’t be ridiculous.”
“Smartass.”
“Secondly, his parents aren’t going to care if you wear the mint dress or the red romper or that”—she gestures to the dress I have on—“thing.” After a short pause, she says, “Actually, in better judgment, maybe don’t wear that one. It screams country bumpkin to me.”
After swiveling around, I rest my hand on my hip. “We are country bumpkins, you loon.”
“Nonetheless.” She flops back onto her bed, picking up the magazine she was reading and officially ending the discussion on my floral maxi dress.
It’s been five weeks and countless dates since we met, and although the time as flown by, it all still feels like yesterday. Although the intensity of our relationship only continues to grow, the pace in which the stages of our relationship progresses is slow and steady. We spent the afternoons he was off early washing the horses or sitting out in the pasture while they grazed, our conversation never seeming to lull. At night, we always danced, listened to music, and sometimes saw movies.
He’s every woman’s dream, but he’s my reality.
Despite his ridiculously handsome face, I find myself lost in his mind and his heart more often. We had a formal dinner with my family last week, although that seemed far less intimidating, given that we were both used to seeing them together on a daily basis. Well, it was at least less intimidating until the end, when Daddy threatened him with his guns, but Branson took it in stride. And truthfully, I think they’re both rather fond of each other.
“Are you guys going to do it?” Aurora asks.
Snapping out of my daze, I gape at her through the mirror.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. The air surrounding you two is so thick with sexual tension that it’s like the humidity in Hawaii,” she says. “My hair goes to hell in a hand basket every time y’all are around.”
“Uhh . . .” I don’t know what to say.
The thought did cross my mind, especially as I packed the overnight bag I’d be bringing with me. Branson’s family lived in Coal Hill, an hour’s drive on the opposite side of Edmonton. It was far too long for an evening. So he declared we’d be having our first sleepover. I was worried I’d either rip his clothes off before we made it inside or freeze in place from having forgotten how exactly one ‘does it.’
It’s been awhile.
“You haven’t forgotten,” Aurora says as if reading my mind while gazing at her magazine. “It’s just like riding a bike.”
I know for a fact that my baby sister is still a virgin, so I haven’t a clue how she knows this. But it’s a topic I see no point in addressing, because, frankly, I’m not entirely sure I want to know.
After settling on the deep-red romper and gold sandals, I let my hair fall loose around my shoulders. My phone buzzes on the table, letting me know Branson is coming up the drive, and I do one last turn in the full-length mirror.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her.
“They’ll love you!” Aurora calls out as I head down the loft stairs with my ass pillow in tow.
The September sun is starting to lose some of its heat, but I welcome the touch of it against my skin as I step outside and slide my aviators onto the bridge of my nose. His car is winding down the driveway, and for a minute, I have to pinch myself as a reminder that he’s coming to get me.
As he gets out of his car with graceful precision, my mouth waters. He’s wearing dark-washed denim jeans, brown, faded boots, and a black dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He runs a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair, and I roll my eyes a little at the way it makes me sigh.
“There’s my girl,” he hums, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You look beautiful.”
I’m grateful for the ridiculous size of my sunglasses, which hide from him the fact that I’m blushing at his simple words. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get goin,’ angel.” He softly kisses me on the lips before taking my overnight bag and tossing it in the backseat.
The drive to Coal Hill is beautiful, and as the afternoon washes into the early evening, my anxiety gives way to excitement. He’s seen so much of who I am and where I’m from, so I’m delightfully eager to see where he comes from.
After we pull off the highway, the vehicle ascends a small incline, and as the trees clear, a beautiful ranch on top of the hill comes into view.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe out, taking in the classic, red barns and older log home.
“I’m glad you think so.” He smiles, pushing his Ray-Bans to the top of his head as he parks. “You ready to meet everyone?”
Nodding, I take his hand, allowing him to help me from the car. My heart pounds steadily as we climb the three steps to the front porch of my boyfriend’s parents’ house.
He’s barely on the top step before a swarm of children comes barreling through the screen door.
“Uncle B! Uncle B!” they all shout in unison, moving around us quicker than I can watch.
When my eyes finally adjust, the swish of a brown ponytail catches my eye and a little girl with bows in her hair tugs on my hand.
“I’m Katie. What’s your name?”
I smile down at her sweet little face. “Nice to meet you, Katie. I’m London.”
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,” the littlest of the boys starts to sing.
“London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady!” the oldest boy finishes before the three of them dramatically fall to the floor.
“Okay, kids. That’s enough,” a pretty, redheaded woman says, holding the screen door open. “It’s usually dinner then the show. In you go. Wash your hands.”
They all stand, rushing into the house as quickly as they left it, and Branson chases behind them, threatening to become The Tickle Monster. Which sounds like a very scary title.
“Sorry about that. I’m Kailee. Heath’s wife.” She holds her hand out. “The two musicians are mine.”
Placing my hand in hers, I laugh. “No need for apologies. They’re lovely.”
“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing for lying,” she teases. “Get your butt on in here, girl. Ashley’s going to love you.”
She holds the door open, allowing me to walk inside. Then I follow her down a long hall into a very busy, very happy kitchen.
“Oh my word, look at you!” A petite brunette with flour all over her apron comes rushing towards me.
I prepare myself for a handshake, but she envelops me in a hug instead. Although it catches me off guard, my arms circle around her and my eyes close. It might be odd to sniff your boyfriend’s mother the first time you meet her, but frankly, I can’t help it.
She smells like a mom.
I’ve not smelled that in so long, so the sensation is entirely overwhelming. Tears well in my eyes, and it takes everything I have not to sob into her shirt. She gives my body a tight squeeze before eventually pulling back, looking into my eyes, and giving me a little wink.
“I’m Ashley, that hunk
of burnin’ love’s mama, but you can call me anything you please, sweetheart, as long as it ain’t ma’am.”
A burly man nearly twice her size wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his front. “Quit suffocating her, Ashley. Let her breathe.”
She laughs, swatting him with a nearby oven mitt.
“Charles Tucker, miss. It’s a pleasure to have you in our home tonight.” He reaches out a hand so big that it has to be the size of a catcher’s glove, but once I’ve placed my hand in its grip, he shakes it ever so gently.
I see where some of my man’s sides come from.
“Thank you for having me,” I reply, feeling nothing but welcome in their kitchen.
Arms wrap around my shoulders and a kiss is placed on my temple. “I’m sorry. Someone let the Tickle Monster out to tame the children,” Branson whispers into my ear.
I can’t help the girly giggle that leaves my mouth.
“I see you’ve met some of the crazies,” he announces to the room.
A collective boo and an oven mitt swat follows.
“This is my older brother, Heath.” He gestures to the almost carbon copy walking towards us. “Heath, this is my girlfriend, London.”
“We’ve heard so much about you!” He smiles widely, snagging the two little boys as they run by him. “This is Axel”—he tickles the little one—“and this is Jack”—he tickles the older boy. “And you’ve already met my beautiful wife.”
Squatting down, I shake each of the boys’ hands before their dad lets them loose in the house once again.
“This is my dad. His name is Greg. He’s really handsome.”
I turn to find Katie standing next to me, tugging a man almost exactly my age behind her.
Branson drops to his knees, wiggling his hands towards her like I assume the Tickle Monster does. “Is your dad more handsome than me?”
After kissing her dad on the cheek, she pouts at her uncle. “No one’s more handsome than my daddy.”
Greg tosses his head back in laughter before reaching a hand out to me. “Well, I swear I didn’t train her to say that, especially not when it might get me beat up by my big brother.”
“You don’t think your Uncle B is handsome?” Branson wails, picking up a squealing Katie and twirling her in his arms.
“It’s nice to meet you, Greg.” I shake his hand while still laughing at the entire welcome provided by his family.
“I don’t know if Branson told you, but I do a lot of freelance work for sports magazines. I’d love to get a few shots of you with Achilles and set that idiot from the magazine straight.”
My face falls a little, and Branson growls.
“Watch it, Greg.”
“Only if you’re up for it,” the younger of the two men assures me. “I think you were a wonderful competitor, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think that reporter could have found his own asshole, even if he had a map.”
“Gregory Thomas Tucker, you watch your mouth in my house!” Ashley hollers from across the kitchen, waving her oven mitt at her grown son.
Dinner is boisterous and loud, which is something I’m quite familiar with. But having the children around is new, and I’ve grown terribly fond of them in such a short time. When the evening sun sets, the men settle in the living room and I wander out on the back porch to take a minute to remember how thankful I am. For Branson, and for his family.
“You cold, sweetheart?” Ashley shakes a blanket in my direction as she sashays across the porch.
Feeling a little chilled, I rub at my bare arms. “A little, actually.”
“Come sit on the swing with me then, girl. We’ll share this beast.” She gestures towards the heavy quilt. “Charles’ mother made it for our second anniversary. It’s ugly as sin, but honey, I promise you this: It’s as hot as Hugh Jackman’s abs in that movie where he dumps the soap all over him.”
“Australia?” I chuckle, trying to pick up what she’s putting down.
Nodding, she sighs. “Yes, that one!”
After settling down next to her on the porch swing, I let my head fall against the wood and cross my ankles together as we start to move. “You have a wonderful family, Ashley. Thank you so much for having me tonight.”
“It’s entirely our pleasure, London.” She taps my thigh over the blanket. “You’re good for him, you know? That boy of mine’s always had a whole lotta love to give, but he always said he was waiting for the right girl, and you want to know what I think?”
“Of course.”
“I think he wasn’t waiting for the right girl. I think he was waiting for you.”
I have no time to catch the first tear rolling down my cheek without much effort at all. “I think I’ve been waiting for him too. I just didn’t know it is all.”
“Oh heavens, honey. We never know it. Falling in love with Charles was like being hit by a freight train.”
I laugh at her odd choice of metaphor.
“I never got over it, and I never want to. That man makes me fall in love more every day, and let me tell you, three boys later, that’s a damn-near miracle.” Looking over at me, she gives me a smirk. “Tucker men aren’t always easy to love, London. Lord knows I’ve considered settin’ Charles on fire once or twice over the years. But they’ll love you more than anything in this world, and they’ll love you until the day they die. There’s no better kind out there, even if I am a little biased.”
“I think I’ll keep him,” I whisper back at her as if it’s our own little secret.
It takes ages to say goodbye to everyone, and most of me didn’t want to, but it was getting late. On the quick drive home, I replay the evening over in my head. Each time I do, I’m more grateful than the last. I never thought another person’s family could feel so much like home, but I was so very wrong. The Tuckers feel as much like home as the zoo of my own I love so much, but Ashley healed a small piece of me with her love tonight.
As we come up the driveway, my heart seizes when I catch the unmistakable shape of a burned barn in the distance, and his body tenses behind the wheel. Unsure of what to say, if there’s anything to say at all, I rest my hand on his thigh.
While it saddens me deeply that it happened to him, I am also grateful, because it brought him to me. Although I didn’t know I was missing the other half of my heart, I would surely know now, and that would make all the difference.
Lights in the distance come into focus, and for the second time today, the breath on my lips is stolen by another beautiful home. It is entirely warm, and having met his family, I can see why it would be. The log beams are offset by brilliant floor-to-ceiling windows that gleam from the light of the moon. It’s not until we drive past the house that I come to know my favorite place in the entire property—the large horse fountain in the middle of his drive.
Like a child, I tap his shoulder. “Stop the car!”
“What?” He frowns in concern.
“Stop the car!” I yell again.
He complies, clearly confused by my sudden outburst of energy.
As soon as the car stops, I throw the door open and run softly over to the statue of a beautiful horse rearing up into the night. The water cascades down around him and the lights in the pool bring the image to life. Without thinking better of it, I kick my sandals off and climb into the shallow water.
Branson shakes his head as he walks towards me. “What are you doing?”
Lifting my arms above my head, I twirl around underneath the fountain. “It’s beautiful.” I laugh, the water staining the red of my romper to a dark plum.
“It’s beautiful, even when you aren’t in it.” He folds his arms over his chest.
I crook a finger and wink. “Don’t be a spoilsport, cowboy. Come here.”
“You’re crazy.” His eyes are full of love as he toes his boots off. After emptying his pockets, he climbs in so hesitantly that it makes me snicker.
“We’re all a little crazy, baby, and that’s half the fun,” I wh
isper, pulling him under the spray with me.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he presses his wet body against mine. “I love you.”
The smile on my face spreads—though I thought it wasn’t even possible—and the pounding of my chest against its confines rings in my head. “You love me?”
Call me a glutton, but I just want to hear it again.
“I do.” He wipes the wet hair off my face. “You’re every dream I’ve ever laid awake at night wishing for, and your every sin I’ve ever wanted to indulge in. You’re my fantasy and my reality every day. I love you, London.”
“I love you, too.” My lips crash onto his, and he sucks my bottom lip between his lips in a feverish kiss.
Branson told me he loved me as we stood in a fountain, soaking wet in our clothes the night I met his parents, and it was absolute perfection.
After toweling off my hair from the quick shower I’d taken in his bathroom, I slide into the somewhat skimpy pajamas I brought with me.
“Your mama’s somethin’ special,” I tell Branson, lying down on the bed beside him.
He puts his iPad on the dresser, props himself up on his elbow, and looks down at me. “She likes you.”
“I like her, too,” I whisper, my voice faltering a little as his hand settles over the thin cotton of my shirt on my stomach.
His thumb trails over my belly button as he speaks. “She’s the one who picked out our fountain.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Our fountain?”
“The moment I told you I loved you while ruining my clothes in it, it became our fountain,” he teases.
Burrowing my head into the pillow, I laugh. “Well, your mama has wonderful taste. I love that fountain.”
“I love you.” He’s quick with the words, but his eyes light up as he says them.
